Once again I was completely numb today. No highs or lows. I’ve been finding myself “leaking” from the eyes. Wasn’t there a movie when the protagonist was crying and he goes “my eyes are leaking”? I say leaking because I’m not really crying. I just have tears that stream from the outside corners of my eyes. I know when I’m crying and I don’t feel that can be catalogued into when my head is shoved into a pillow and I’m convulsing.
My days have been relatively uneventful. Because school is out on winter break I don’t have to be in the office until later this week. Benefits of college employment. But I haven’t been doing anything during the day besides reading and the occasional chores. I am staying at my parents house right now, which is nice because I don’t have a ton of responsibilities. So I find my mind drifting off and becoming lost in memories.
Todays notable memory came when my mom and I decided to go shoe shopping. She was talking about sneakers and although I was listening I immediately started thinking about how cool George’s shoe collection is/was. In fact my dad quickly hijacked a pair of George’s Toms a week or so after he passed. It is comforting to me when I see my dad wear them.
When George and I first started dating we texted nonstop as we were getting to know each other on a more romantic level. George mentioned one of his vices was, was his shoe collection. He had an affinity for Puma sneakers and any other sneakers that could be considered casual but not sporty. He was great at coordinating his outfits around his sneakers. He was the only guy who could wear a suit with a pair of Chromes and still look professional. One afternoon in Bermuda, we were walking around in Hamilton and we decided to stop and grab a coffee at a little coffee shop. As we climbed the short stack of stairs, this guy who had an English/Bermudan accent calls out to us. He was sitting at a table just outside the coffee shop and said, “love those shoes, mate.” George brightened up and was shining a big toothy smile. He loved getting compliments on his footwear. He was proud of his collection. I loved when he would come home and show me his newest pair of kicks.
Today marks 6 weeks since he died. It’s still hard to believe that the real last conversation we had was almost 7 weeks ago. As the year comes to a close I’m terrified to put one foot in front of the other, but what other choice do I have? It’s time to lace up and try to adapt to this new life that seemed to come way too soon.